When I came home early, I overheard Samantha whispering, âI canât tell Mom the truth. Sheâll hate me forever.â My heart pounded.
I couldnât imagine what secret she was hiding. Samantha, now sixteen, had always been my heart. But that day, she seemed differentânervous,
distant. When I confronted her, she confessed: âI did an ancestry test. It says youâre not my biological mother. âThe words hit me like a punch.
I took her hand and gently explained, âYour biological mother didnât want you. But your dadâhe wanted you more than anything. And when I met you,
I knew you were mine, no matter what. âSamanthaâs eyes filled with tears. âYou adopted me? ââYes,â I said, âbut Iâve always seen you as my daughter.
Youâre my blood, my heart, my dearest girl.â She clung to me, sobbing, âI thought youâd hate me. ââNever,â I whispered. âYou belong. You always have.
âIn that moment, I knew: love isnât about DNA. Itâs about the family we choose. Samantha was chosen, and she was mine, always